


our cars crashed (and so did our hearts)

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, but bobbi loves him anyways, chai lattes used as distractions, hunter is a cheesy cheesy shit, lawsuits ensue, there's cars involved, they work for neighboring companies, they're both really dramatic hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: "Is this your car?"When Lance Hunter hears those words for the first time, he has no idea what's about to be in store for him.





	our cars crashed (and so did our hearts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/gifts).



> Cross-posted over from the FFN graveyard, so if you've already read this, chances are it was over there.

"Is this your car?"

_ Look apologetic, Lance, look apologetic, _ he scolded himself as he stepped around his wreck of a car. The front was completely smashed in, the bright red hood of his Toyota crumpled up at an odd angle. Smoke billowed from an unknown source, but he wasn't too concerned about that--it was most likely steam.  _ Bloody hell. The headlights are smashed. I'm going to have to pay a pretty penny for those. _

"Sorry," he called out to the other driver, wincing at his prominent English accent. "Still not used to driving on the right side of the road. Hell of a change, it is." As he rounded the corner, he could see that the owner of the had sustained relatively little damage, her navy blue Ford truck sporting just the tiniest dent in the front bumper. "And it looks like you came out alright anyways, didn't you?"

She was tall, blonde, and absolutely breathtaking, he decided as the truck's occupant came into full view. Her legs crossed as she leaned against the hood of her car, Lance had a hard time believing  _ she _ was the true owner of such a truck. She looked like she was dressed for work: sheer black stockings, a black pencil skirt hitting just above the knee, and a gray blouse paired with a navy blazer.

The whole thing would've worked if she hadn't been wearing a pair of bright pink Crocs.

"English, huh?" she snorted as Lance's mouth dropped open, presumably at the car. She got it often. Just not from noticeably cute English men she met driving on the wrong side of the road. "And still driving on the wrong side of the road." When the other man still didn't utter a word, she snapped her fingers at him in impatience. "Hello? I'm in  _ front _ of the car."

"Sorry, love," he blurted out automatically, reminding himself for the millionth time that  _ he was in the States now, goddammit, _ and that there were more polite ways to address a woman. Especially one this beautiful. "I mean, ma'am," He grinned at her apologetically. "Force of habit. Mate of mine's been telling me to kick it for days now."

She looked understandably amused. "I'd say you should probably kick the driving habit first, huh?" She held out a hand for him to shake. Lance took it, noting that she had a lawyer's handshake--he'd seen enough of them to know how they shook. "Bobbi Morse." Even her  _ name _ was symmetrical, he mused.

"Lance Hunter." He paused, wanting to prolong the conversation but not knowing exactly how to. "I don't suppose you could tell me how this works?" Bobbi laughed then, the sound flowing respondently out of her mouth. "Excuse me, miss 'born-and-raised-American'," he scolded lightly, slightly affronted. "It is  _ not _ my fault we Brits use a different system than you Yanks. Bloody well easier, too," he muttered, as Bobbi was still laughing. "We'd be done by now over in England."

"It's not that bad, Lance," she answered, raising a blonde eyebrow at his proclamation. "We trade insurance, call the companies, and we're done. If you'd been a jerk, I would've probably taken you to court." He watched as she crossed over to the driver's side door, opening it and reaching for a pad of paper and pens. She handed one of each to him. "You've got an insurance number, yeah? Name, number, and we'll be on our way."

"Good to meet you," Lance said in way of parting as they exchanged insurance info, on his way back to his car. Oh, wait...that's right, he couldn't get anywhere with  _ his _ wreck of a car. He sighed, fishing for his phone. There really was no other option but to call his roommate Leo. Bugger would probably laugh his arse off when he heard Lance had wrecked his car driving on the wrong side of the road, but it beat sitting there waiting for AAA.

Bobbi paused as she got into her truck, seeing Lance pull out his phone to call someone.  _ Should she offer him a lift...? _ In the end, her conscience (or at least, that's what she told herself; there was no denying attraction played a small part), won out, and as she started her engine, she leaned out her window. "Where you heading?"

"Inhuman Industries," he answered. At her surprised look, he explained, "I'm just a salesperson. I have no idea what actually goes on in the labs, and trust me, if I did, I'd tell you." She accepted that answer with a nod, and the two of them fell into silence as Bobbi continued along the highway, Lance pulling out his phone to call his insurance company. "Yeah, car's a bloody wreck...on the right side of the 95...alright, I was driving on the wrong side of the road, but I'm going to get used to it, alright? Thank you." He hung up with a sigh. " _ Insurance companies. _ "

Bobbi stifled a smile. If only he knew the type of people  _ she _ worked with all day...

* * *

 

"Is this your car?"

Bobbi's eyes widened as she heard a voice outside of her office window. Not daring to hope, she looked slowly out the window, drawing in a sharp intake of breath when she saw him dressed impeccably in a silk black suit, coattails and all. And  _ damn _ , if Lance Hunter didn't look good arguing in that suit.

"Look, mate, I don't even work here," Lance was arguing with another man in the lot, his expression heated as he gestured with his hands. "All I wanted was a parking space.  _ Sorry _ if it happened to be your bloody 'preferred parking space'." The last three words were made with air quotes, and Bobbi fought off the urge to snicker--she did, after all, have to remain professional. "Just let me get out of the damn space, and it'll be all yours." She could hear him rolling his eyes as the car revved, and a small part of her brain wondered what he was doing here. She hadn't told him where she worked last week when she'd driven him, had she? Confused, Bobbi racked her brain, jumping about a foot in the air when her secretary Jemma buzzed her.

"Miss Morse, you have a visitor from Inhuman Industries," Bobbi raised an eyebrow to herself-- _ surely _ that couldn't be Lance--and straightened her charcoal gray pencil skirt, standing up as the door opened. "Hi, I'm Barbara Morse, chief lawyer to Coulson and Co, how may I help you-- _ Lance _ ?" He looked just as surprised to see her, actually spluttering for a bit before regaining his composure. "What are you doing here?"

"Bloody hell," Lance muttered to himself, tugging at the coattails of his suit. "I should've known--" He exhaled, wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead. (She'd be lying if she said she didn't find the tiniest bit cute.) "--when they told me  _ Barbara _ , should've connected the damn dots..." He sighed finally, giving Bobbi a weak smile. "Well. How are you today, Bobbi?" She didn't miss the briefcase in his hand, assuming that this was about the upcoming partnership that was about to occur between Coulson and Inhuman.

"I take it you're here to try and sell me on the partnership?" she asked, getting her confirmation when Lance sighed, plopping the briefcase down on the floor. "Have a seat. At least we won't have to go through all of the awkward introductions now, will we?"

"I'm not sure it got any more awkward than me front-ending your truck," he laughed, settling into a seat in front of her desk. "Which, by the way, I haven't done to anyone else since,"  He reached for the briefcase, settling in his lap as Bobbi sat back in her chair, her hands primly folded as if waiting for an answer. "Let's talk business, shall we?" The lid of the case fell open to reveal a small, dark vial, and judging by the look on Lance's face, he hadn't known what was in it any more than she had. He was once again derailed, setting the open case on Bobbi's desk so that both of them could have a good look at it. "What  _ is _ that?"

"I take that it's something that requires our legal services," Bobbi answered smoothly. "And apparently the best of the best at that." When Lance gave her a look, she responded with, "Master's from Columbia. Youngest person to pass the bar in twenty years. Even have a PhD in biochemistry." There was a cheeky smirk. "So yes, this does seem quite dire."

"Top honors from Oxford, sweetheart. Business," he retorted, smirking back at her. "Obviously, you're looking at the best of the best, here." The two of them stared at each other, the tension in the air crackling. Neither of them knew what this really was--was it a rivalry? Was it harmless flirting? Was it something more?

Well, whatever it was, Bobbi decided she wouldn't look into it too much. They  _ were _ about to be business partners, after all. She had no time to let her personal life into the picture, attractiveness be damned. "So what's the case here?" Lance sighed, the tension broken as he fished out a sheaf of papers in a manila folder.

"Inhuman Industries recently caused a scare with  _ this _ thing here," he explained, tapping the small vial full of dark liquid. "I don't know what it's called exactly, but we recently sold it to a very powerful family, the Johnsons. Their daughter, Skye, supposedly 'started coughing as her lips turned a charcoal color, which supposedly spread to the rest of her body, causing instant rigor mortis. Pronounced dead on scene.' That's the statement the Johnsons made, and the medical examiner's report pretty much corroborates that." He handed the folder to Bobbi, who looked it over with the precision of a trained lawyer. As she read, Lance watched in fascination as she blew a wavy strand of blonde hair out of her face.  _ Had her hair always been that damn curly? _

"Did they say why they bought the item in the first place?" Bobbi's tone was crisp and efficient, and suddenly he understood how she'd risen to the top of the ranks so quickly. "Health problems, superficial reasons, anything related to actual or supposed medical issues? Actually," she frowned as she shut the folder, "what's this thing supposed to do in the first place?"

"Supposedly, it's supposed to de-age the consumer's skin. Forty looking twenty, fifty looking thirty, yada yada yada. It's LA, what are you gonna do? Doesn't explain why the daughter drank it, though. She's only seventeen." Bobbi carefully lifted the vial out of its foam casing, lifting it so that it would catch the light. She frowned at it, then fished a pair of rubber gloves out of her desk drawer before uncorking it and giving it a whiff.

"Smells like cough syrup," she said, making a face. "If anything, I'm guessing the daughter was looking for a codeine high and accidentally drank this while looking for actual cough medicine." The vial was carefully replaced in the briefcase, Bobbi closing the lid and pushing it far away from her. "How much are they looking for?"

"The mother, Jaiying, is hell-bent on revenge; the dad plans to take us to court until we settle," Lance sighed. "Boss is already cutting people as we speak to prep for the fees." Bobbi frowned--she may not have approved of their product, but she didn't want to see innocent people get put out of work because of what some nerdy scientists (okay, that wasn't fair,  _ lab rats _ ) had cooked up in a lab during what was most likely their off time.

"Tell you what," she decided, hoping that she wouldn't get fired for this. "I'll do it for half our usual rate." Of course, Bobbi would probably have to pay out of her own pocket for the  _ other _ half, but she'd made plenty of money over the years--more than she'd ever need. "Where do I sign?"

But it looked like Lance had other plans. "You don't have to do that, Bobbi, you really don't. Personally, I think they're a bunch of bastards themselves, charging an arm and a leg for half-assed products, but you really don't have to do this..." She raised an eyebrow at him--was he really insulting the people who kept him on the payroll? Nervously, he slid her the paper and a fountain pen, grinning crookedly when she huffed a laugh at the pen. "Yes, we know, putting an actual human in the pen is  _ such _ a great idea. Trust me, not mine."

"And who will I be consulting with on this case?" she asked slyly, her signature bold and blue on the page as she slid the document back over to him. Though she already had a feeling who, she wanted to hear it from his mouth all the same. Lance made a move to stand up, and she mirrored it, holding out her hand.

"Why, me of course," They shook once more like they had the previous day, both of them choosing to ignore the fact that tingles raced through their skins at the touch. As he was leaving the door, Lance had the audacity to wink at Bobbi. "I was the youngest Englishman to pass the bar in twenty-five years, after all."

* * *

 

"Is this your car?"

She really needed to stop hearing that sentence, Bobbi decided as she stepped out of the local cafe holding her precious chai latte. She needed that caffeine every morning, lest she crash at noon and mess up on her case. And with her salary riding on the outcome of this one, her chai latte was most definitely needed.

"Yes, it is," she answered, tiniest bit of impatience in her voice. After all, this had been the third time she'd heard that sentence in a week, and she was beginning to expect Lance to come around the corner every time she heard it. Unfortunately, there was no Lance this time around; just some pathetic-looking man in a beret and tie-dye pants.  _ Hi, the sixties called. They want their spokesperson back. _ "What's your reason for asking?"

"Didn't think a pretty lady such as you would have such a car like that," he drawled, shooting her a grin that showed many missing teeth. "This car here's for the men to be ridin around in." Bobbi was debating on how to welcome him to 2018 (perhaps maybe with a sarcastic comment and a middle finger?) when he spoke again. "If you come with me, I can show you what a  _ real _ ride looks like,"

It was hard to miss that innuendo, she mused, and used it to make her exit. "Well, on that note, I really must be going," she said, fishing in her bag for her keys. "Been great talking to you, really, it has been--" She stopped cold as the sleazeball grabbed ahold of her arm, his cold, dark eyes fixated on her face. The nervousness unsettled her, despite her years of training in emotional settlements.

"No one runs away from Grant Ward, sugar," he rasped, a pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. Bobbi shuddered. "You're gonna wanna come with me if you value your life." Her mind went into panic mode, instantly assessing every which way she could get out of the situation. There was a kick to the groin. There was stabbing him with her keys. There was spitting in his face...no, better yet, go with the groin...

"Finally, there you are!"

Both Bobbi and the man jumped as Lance came hurrying up the street, a chai latte in his hand. "Been looking for ya all over the place, love, and the man at the shop told me you'd just left! Even got you your chai latte just how you like it. All cinnamon, minimum froth. Oh, hello," he said to the seemingly homeless man, who was still clutching Bobbi's arm. "Strikin' up a conversation with my girlfriend there, are ya?"

Grant leapt back, letting go of Bobbi's arm as if he'd been burnt. Which, in a way, he had been. "This your boyfriend, sugar?" he asked, the leer still present on his face but apparent fear lacing his tone. "Didn't know you were the taken type." Bobbi rubbed her arm as if she'd caught some contagious disease, instantly wishing she had some sort of hand sanitizer.

"Meet my  _ boyfriend _ , Lance," Bobbi answered,  slinging an arm around his shoulders for good measure. "Isn't he just the cutest thing? I feel so lucky to have him." She shot him a dazed, sappy look, mentally sighing in relief when he returned the gesture, kissing her on the forehead.  _ And she was definitely imagining the sparks. Most definitely. _ "Now come on, honey. We're going to be late picking up my mother for lunch."

"Yes, dear," At that, Lance visibly slumped over, turning to Ward, who was still looking at them with his jaw wide open. "Her mother is an absolute nightmare," Lance told him in a stage whisper as he was led off by Bobbi. "Hates me, the old hag. Wish she'd hurry up and kick the bucket already." His comment was rewarded with a smack on the head as they got into the car, Lance waving jauntily as they pulled away.

"Thanks," Bobbi exhaled once they were out of sight of Ward, her facade dropping easily. "I thought I was going to have to kick him in the nuts." She looked rattled, Lance noticed, and was surprised at his urge to gather her in his arms to tell her it was alright. "Believe it or not, that was my first time in something like that."

"Well, who am I to leave a pretty lady in distress like that?" he asked mildly, taking a sip of his latte. "Besides, I had to deal with my own share of homeless blokes back in London--they're not exactly pretty." He didn't tell her that he'd done his time as a homeless man on the cobblestoned streets, a jacket and a styrofoam cup his only friends. "Believe, me, Bob. I'm glad I was there."

"Bob?" she asked, shooting him a curious grin, her eyes alight. Lance silently cursed himself for shortening the already appropriate nickname.  _ Why the hell did you have to do that? Now she'll think you're some sort of creep and you'll never get a date with her. _ "Where'd you get that from?" Not that she was complaining or anything--everyone else had been content to call her Bobbi, no one shortening it to  _ Bob _ .

"Bobbi, Bob," he shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It seemed fitting. Plus, it makes you sound like more of a badass. No one wants to mess with a Bob." Bobbi laughed at that, and Lance grinned, glad she seemed to be in good spirits once more. "Just like no one messes with Hunter. Lance just sounds like the geek you'd beat up in the dumpster in an alleyway."

"Wait, so are you saying that I've been calling you the wrong thing this entire time?" Bobbi gasped, nearly swerving to take a turn. "Why didn't you tell me the first time we met?" Goodness, all that she'd just put him through, and now she learned she was calling him the wrong name! "Jesus, Hunter, you could've given me  _ some _ sort of hint."

"I don't mind much," he said, meaning every part of that sentence. Truthfully, he didn't. No one had called him Lance since his mother, and that had only been when he'd been in trouble. Hearing Bobbi say it now gave him a sense of belonging, like there was finally someone who cared for him.  _ Don't get ahead of yourself, Lance, _ he told himself.  _ She'll start calling you Hunter now that she's realized that's how you want to be called. _

"Good, then I'll keep doing it," Bobbi smirked, taking a left turn into the Inhuman Industries parking lot. "I figured you were on your way back to work," she said by way of explanation when Hunter gave her a curious look. "It was the least I could do after kidnapping you and making you pretend to be my boyfriend." The unspoken was left hanging in the air: he hadn't minded doing so one bit. And neither had she.

"So are we still on for that three o'clock tomorrow?" Hunter asked as he climbed out of the car, picking up his suit jacket to go with it. Bobbi nodded, reaffirming the date in her head. They'd agreed to meet the following day at a local cafe to discuss their plan of action, now that they'd discovered some key evidence that had proved Skye's death hadn't been totally due to the product she'd ingested.

"It's a--" The word 'date' caught in Bobbi's throat, and she cleared her throat, hoping to buy some time. "It's most definitely on," she corrected herself, waving goodbye as he headed in. "I'll catch you tomorrow!"  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid, _ she cursed herself.  _ What makes you think he wants to go on a date with you, of all people? Probably has a girlfriend back in England or something. You two are just friends. JUST. FRIENDS. _

She tried to keep telling herself that as she 'unconsciously' reached for the latte he'd left in the car, forgoing hers for his. Two tablespoons of cinnamon, just the tiniest amount of froth. He really had known how she liked her coffee, she mused. Bobbi couldn't remember the last time someone had actually made the effort to remember how she liked her coffee. Not since..  _ No, Bobbi. Not since Clint. _ Not since her ex-boyfriend had left her crying in the streets, clutching her broken heart as the rain poured down.

Maybe things were finally turning around.

* * *

 

"Is this your car?"

Lance barely had time to answer as he was blindly shoved into the too-small vehicle, his head nearly bumping the ceiling. He felt around for a bit with his skull, looking for the telltale dent in the work--Fitz had once jammed a metal rod into the roof following a heavy night of drinking. As he reached a give in the car's metalwork, he relaxed.  _ Ah. There it was. _ He winced as the keys were forcibly wrenched from his fingers, his captor climbing into the front seat.

"We got one down, one to go," he heard, and Lance tensed. Who were they taking with him? Why did they want him and the mysterious other person, anyways?  _ And thirdly...why'd it have to be HIS car? _ "Take a left. We'll get there faster. Boss says she's leaving the building in three." So it was a she, Lance mused. Well, it was a good thing they'd blindfolded him--he wouldn't be able to judge his company in what was apparently his dying hour.

"No, the OTHER way, you idiot!" the man on the passenger side was shouting. "Didn't you see the goddamn sign? Coulson and Co. on the left, Hand Harmonics on the right! How hard is it?" A small part of Lance's rationale panicked, worried that they were after Bobbi. It would certainly explain why he was being kidnapped in his own car.  _ But Bobbi is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. _ She'd certainly proved it during their encounter with Grant Ward, although she'd been rattled for days.

"There she is," one of them whispered, and Lance wished desperately to see if they were indeed after Bobbi, or if they'd chosen someone else to be their victim. Even with the window shut, he could hear the signs of a struggle. The victim was clearly feminine, seemingly putting up quite a fight before she lost, the captors also dragging her to the vehicle. Lance heard the door open, the woman being shrugged in with a grunt (by the sounds of it, she was even taller than he was,) and shut again. He let the car drive for some time, listening for the sounds of the partition going up.

_ Whiirrrrr... _

As soon as he heard the seal of glass on plastic, he whispered, "This car really isn't meant for tall people." The other person choked back a gasp, seeming to struggle with her emotions for a minute before asking,

"Lance?" His heart dropped. It really was his worst nightmare come true.

"Bobbi? Is that you?" He was answered with a slight squirming before her tied-up hands found his, the callused fingertips instantly confirming her identity. At that, he relaxed. Being in a car with Bobbi wouldn't be so bad. "First kidnapping, eh?"

She snorted. "You make it sound like this isn't your first rodeo." And unfortunately for him, it hadn't been--Lance had been part of some very unsavory kidnappings in his past: some had turned out well, the others not so much. This one was ranking more towards the amateur; whoever had kidnapped him obviously had had motivations, but no real expertise. Amateur or not, however, he could still feel Bobbi's hand shaking, and he squeezed it once in reassurance, allowing her to calm down.

"How have you not been kidnapped before?" he chose to ask instead, not wanting to dwell on his own past. "You're a lawyer, and a bloody good one at that. Surely someone's wanted you dead at least once. No?" he asked when he heard the  _ swish _ of Bobbi's blonde locks against her seatbelt. "Not even when you've handled high-profile cases? Jesus," he muttered to himself, "you've got an easy lawyer career."

"I've only been chief for a couple of years," she confessed. "There haven't been any cases high-profile enough to hand to me yet, until you came in and gave me this one. So yeah," she concluded breathlessly. "this is my first kidnapping. Hopefully not of many," Lance had the sinking feeling that this was indeed the start of many kidnappings for the poor woman, and his heart sunk. Bobbi, for all of her wit and charm, didn't deserve to be in the law business. She deserved to have much more happiness--as a nurse or something, far away from suing families and amateur kidnappings. He voiced as such, and she laughed. "You sound like my dad," she said to him, shifting so that she was more comfortable. "Always wanted me to go into pediatrics or something medical.  _ 'Your entire family's been in the medical field,' _ " she mocked, putting on a grave voice. " _ It's time you stop dabbling in law, Barbara--get into a real woman's job. _ Needless to say, we don't speak anymore,"

"Bloody hell," he said, awestruck. "Does your father know what year it is yet?" Growing up, Lance's parents had always been adamant that he keep common sense about him, remembering that women were, and would always be, equal to men. "I haven't even met the bloke and I don't like him." Bobbi laughed again, and had they not been blindfolded in a too-small car, he was sure this would have been like any other date, where they were just driving around learning about each other. In a way, it was still happening, except this drive ended in a possible death. It was nice---as nice as it could possibly get before imminent death.

"Hey. Quit yapping, you lovebirds." One of their captors rapped on the partition, causing Bobbi and Lance to jump, sobered. "This ain't summer camp." Lance had half a mind to ask him what this  _ was _ exactly, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to endanger either of them.

"We're not--" Bobbi had begun, before Lance jabbed his elbow into her side--or, at least, what he thought was her side. "Lance, that was my chest." Oops. That would be a new one on his court record. "Just what exactly are you doing?"

"They think we're dating," he hissed, leaning in closer. To the people on the other side of the barrier, it looked like they were whispering sweet nothings, which was exactly what he wanted. "Now, I want you to listen very carefully to me and do everything I say." He felt Bobbi nod quickly, then continued. "I'm going to put my forehead on yours," he began. "I'm going to edge it up slowly until you can see. Then, I need you to work at each wind of the rope until it falls past your fingers. There's a switchblade in the middle seat pocket. Cut me free. And the whole time, it's got to look like we're saying our last goodbyes to each other, got it?"

"Okay," she agreed readily. As Lance leaned in, totally not inhaling her scent (she smelled like crisp sea days and cotton), Bobbi blurted out, "I just want you to know--everything I say to you, I'll mean it." He stopped then, his heart pounding in anticipation at what she meant.

"I'm really going to miss you, Bob." He tested the waters with a seemingly innocent statement at first, starting with something that would easily apply to the both of them. Their foreheads touched, after some mild bumping. Slowly, Lance found the swath of cloth covering her eyes, using friction to force it up.

"I'm going to miss you too, Lance Hunter," she exhaled softly, feeling her composure slip a little. "I'm really going to miss you and your damn English accent. Kept me up some nights, it did," Inch by inch, Bobbi regained her vision, blinking suddenly at the sunlight flooding her retinas. She shook her head a little, trying to clear it so she could focus on the task at hand. Flexing her fingertips, she painstakingly worked past each coil of rope, cheering quietly when her hands were finally freed. "I'm hoping it'll keep me up a  _ lot _ more." Bobbi grinned in satisfaction as she heard Lance's breath hitch--she still had it. Easily, she sliced through his bonds with the aforementioned switchblade, easing him to lie down so that they wouldn't be detected.

"I was hoping we'd get to this position a lot later, love," Lance joked as they lay on top of each other, their limbs tangled in the car's small space. "I'm not sure we did this the right way." Bobbi laughed, her head resting on his chest. "I mean, the first information we ever exchanged were insurance numbers. Even in England, we exchanged those later on."

"I've never done a single thing right in my life," Bobbi chuckled nonchalantly, her eyes raising to meet Lance's. "Went into law instead of medical school. Got into a shitty relationship with a man obsessed with archery who put an arrow through my heart. And I fell in love with an Englishman when my family history traces back to the American Revolution. I'm sure this won't hurt."

They heard the sliding of the partition before they saw it: as if telepathic, both of them feverishly locked their lips to each other's, wholly concerned with only surviving. Once it slid shut, however, Lance deepened the kiss, his hand coming to rest at the back of Bobbi's neck. It was some time before they came up for air, he was still cupping the back of her neck, skating a thumb across her cheek.

"When we get through this," Bobbi managed, "d'you maybe want to get dinner sometime? I'll introduce you to the great wonders of the Italian place across from my apartment." It was his turn to grin, dropping a small kiss on her forehead before replying what she hadn't before.

"It's a date."

"We're stopping," Bobbi realized, and indeed, their car was slowing to a stop. Panic overtook her once more, and she gripped Lance's shoulders tightly. "What do we do, Lance, what do we do?" She was most definitely going to die. She was going to die without ever having gotten married or paid off her law school debts or, hell, gone on a date with Lance...

"Bob. We're not not going to die. We're going to find out what the hell they want with us, kick their asses, get my car back, and go to dinner. Okay?" Lance's military training kicked in, and he was focused on only one goal: get Bobbi out safe and sound, no matter the cost. They scrambled to look docile as the door opened, and the guard hoisted them out. "Pity boss wouldn't let us have fun with this one," one of the men said. He groped Bobbi roughly, and she shuddered in disgust, already reconsidering the rest of her life. Maybe she would go into medical. "I have the feeling she would be a screamer."

That did it. With a roar, Lance clocked the man that was holding him hostage, swinging a fist around in rage at Bobbi's captor. He too went down with a grunt, and Lance planted a booted foot on his chest. "Who hired you, mate, and how much are they paying you?"

The man didn't respond, and Bobbi slapped him across the face. "Who hired you?" Lance gave her an appreciative look, and she shrugged. "I could do a mean slap back in my high school days. Plenty of ex-boyfriends to prove it." She slapped him again. "Don't make me slap-happy. I hit a lot harder when that happens."

"Cal Johnson," the man spat through a mouthful of blood and loose teeth. "Says you," he nodded at Lance, "were responsible for his daughter's death. The girl was just a bonus--sez he would pay extra for the lawyer he was boinking." Bobbi slapped him once more just for that comment. "What?" the man asked. "There ain't no denying the truth, pretty lady."

"We can't press charges," Bobbi sighed. "One, the Johnsons would get out of anything we pressed on them, and two, we can't prove anything." She turned to Lance. "All we've got is the evidence. We'll have to keep working with it to really prove our case." Lance nodded, nudging the man's head with his foot.

"Hope I won't be seeing you around, bud," he said, shooting him a salute. "I wouldn't fancy being on the receiving end of her attack. Sounds bloody terrifying, to be quite honest." Bobbi nodded in agreement, the two of them getting into Lance's car and heading off.

"They thought we were dating?" Bobbi asked in disbelief once more as they headed onto the highway. Lance, thankfully, knew where they were, and started navigating their way back to actual civilization. "Why would they think we were  _ dating _ ?"

"Must've been the coffee," he realized, thinking they must've had a lot more people on them than originally thought. "I wouldn't be surprised if they'd gotten that homeless bloke on it, too." As they turned on the highway, he said, "So. How do you feel about going to dinner?"

"After all of this?" Bobbi laughed. "That sounds wonderful."

* * *

 

"Is this your car?"

Bobbi stared at the bright red vehicle, trying to fight the way her breathing levels rose just slightly at seeing it. It was Lance's car, of course. Since then, Bobbi had avoided the car at all costs, preferring to use her navy blue Ford whenever possible. While it had led to she and Lance getting together (and here they were, two years later), there were still some nights she woke up in a sweat, having dreamed she was alone in the car once more, this time without Lance to save her. He'd held her every time they happened, constantly patient, always murmuring soft reassurances in her ear. He'd even gone so far as to have the car put into a lot, knowing how much it affected her.

"It's not mine," she said finally, proud at how stable her voice was. "It's Lance's." Mild panic washed through her. "Is he alright?" Being called to a seemingly abandoned place tended to arouse paranoia, especially given the lives they had. Lance's relationship with Bobbi had put him on a lot of lists, especially after the aftermath of the Johnson case. He hadn't batted an eyelash, simply shrugged and signed himself up for advanced self-defense.

The woman who had asked her--Melinda, her name tag read--only smiled and shook her head. "Lance said you'd say that," she said, getting up from her chair. She had a distinct English accent, Bobbi noticed, and it sounded a lot like Lance's. Melinda opened up the door to the car's passenger seat, motioning for Bobbi to get in. "Come on. I've got someplace to take you." Bobbi regarded the brunette girl suspiciously. There were plenty of ways Lance's car could've ended up in the girl's possession, some of them not too pleasant. Melinda noticed her hesitation and laughed, handing Bobbi a letter. She took it in, sliding open the envelope.

_ Bob, _

_ If you're reading this, it probably means you haven't taken Mel at her word. I figured something like that would happen. I don't blame you, though. Melinda is the most annoying twerp to ever walk the face of the earth. Of course, you're probably going to love her, since she loves annoying the hell out of me. Sisters, I swear. I'm sure you'll love her. See you soon :) _

_ Love, Lance _

"Sister?" Bobbi asked, lowering the letter and looking at Melinda in shock. "You two don't look anything alike." She briefly remembered Lance mentioning a couple of months ago that his sister had made it to the States, and that he was going to let her move into apartment, given that he spent so much time at Bobbi's, anyways. She'd asked him to move in as a result, leaving said sister with Lance's roommate, Leo.

Melinda, to her credit, wasn't fazed. "People say that all the time. Lance looks more like Dad. I take after my mum." She gestured once more to the car door. "So, Bobbi. I've heard a lot about you. You gonna get in the car so I can do my job?" Chuckling, Bobbi ducked onto the vehicle, momentarily forgetting her fear. "Tell me a bit about you." Immediately, Bobbi launched into her life story, including how she'd met Lance and their first case together.

"We still work together on cases," she finished, noting with satisfaction that they'd pulled up just as she finished her story. "I've told him multiple times he doesn't have to, but he still decides to stay, the stubborn man."

"I just want you to know, that no matter how many mistakes Lance might make, he still loves you," Melinda said finally, patting her on the back as she stopped, shutting off the car. “Go out there and have fun, alright?” Bobbi frowned at that implication, but still smiling weakly at the peppy brunette. “I promise it’ll be the time of your life.”

The building Melinda had stopped at was perched right on the edge of the sea, a small white house that looked quaint yet charming. Bobbi fell immediately in love with it, pulling out her phone to take a picture. She turned back to Melinda hesitantly, who motioned for her to go in. “Are you sure this is safe?” The other girl rolled her eyes. 

“Would Lance have brought you here if it wasn’t?” He had a point there, Bobbi figured, opening the rickety screen door and stepping in. It was like she’d stepped into another world, the walls a soft blue and seashells lining the built-in shelves on the wall. There was a fully-stocked kitchen to her left, the remains of a cutting board and some peppers on the counter. To her right sat a small, wooden table, empty except for an unlit candle. It was the back door, however, that had caught her attention, mainly because of the rose petals that created a path. Entranced, Bobbi followed it, pushing open the back door. 

The back porch was small but intimate, a patio table laden with twin lobster and steamed vegetables, two glasses of wine already filled with her favorite Chantis. A tiny, round candle was lit in the middle, set on top of a sky blue tablecloth. 

“Glad to see Mel did her job right.”

Bobbi turned around to see Lance behind her, dressed in the same suit he’d been wearing the second time they’d met. He knew it was her favorite suit--there was something about the lapels that always had her swooning. “You’re making me feel underdressed,” she quipped, feeling self-conscious about her business suit, skirt and heels. 

“You could never look underdressed, darling,” he answered suavely, stepping around her to pull out her chair. Bobbi sat, taking in the visual feast with her eyes as Lance sat down across from her. “Although I would hate to ruin that suit with lobster juice.” He handed her a bib. “Bib?”

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, occasionally breaking it with lobster shells cracking or the occasional jumping noise. Finally, when all that was left was a heap of shells in the bowl, Bobbi brought up the question she’d been dying to ask. “So what brings all of this on? Not that I don’t love it or anything, really, I do, but...” She’d racked her brain all throughout dinner as to what might be going on, but had so far come up with nothing. 

“Two years ago, I had just made it to the States, fresh across the pond, and hadn’t even made it a week before I’d crashed my car by driving on the wrong side of the road,” Lance proclaimed, his eyes taking on a nostalgic tone. Bobbi’s eyes teared up--she hadn’t started counting until they’d actually gotten together, not when they’d first met. “I was completely sure I was screwed. Blokes who drive navy blue Fords generally aren’t all that nice.

“But I didn’t get some muscly man looking to beat me up. No, I got a tough-as-nails lawyer who took no shit from anyone and was smart as a whip,” Lance continued, “and pretty as all-get-out, too. Before I knew it, we took a case together. Inhuman Industries vs. Johnson. I saved her from a creepy homeless man. We got kidnapped together. Hell, we were messed up enough that we  _ got together  _ while getting kidnapped. And those kind of connections you don’t forget easily.”

“I learned everything about that woman in two years. I learned she loves lobster. I learned she adores country music but hates Taylor Swift. I learned that she has a giant stash of gummy bears hidden in the rainbow mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. Don’t deny it, Bob,” he said when Bobbi opened her mouth to protest. “I know it’s there.”

“I need to get a new mug,” was all she muttered.    


“I’ve learned all of these little things, but there’s so much more to learn from the enigma that is you, Barbara Morse,” Hunter said, taking her hand in his. “And I’d love to spend the rest of my life learning about them. So,” he began, taking a box out of his pocket. “Will you marry me?”

Bobbi could count on one hand all of the times she’d been speechless. And that hadn’t happened since she’d been left in the rain all those years ago. Since then, her mind had equated speechlessness with hopelessness--until now. Now, a new hope was driving its way in, the idea that she could finally be happy. “Of course,” she choked, unable to say much else. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Good,” Lance said as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Now we’ll have the same insurance number.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, I'd love to hear about it (and hopefully become your friend! :) it's always nice to make new friends, I say in the least-creepy voice ever.) either in the comments; or hit me up on tumblr! @typosandteabags


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